Living Large

Sometime, way, way, way ago – I blogged that I had quit smoking.

If the tone is somewhat smug then it shouldn’t be. The truth is it didn’t last.

On my last night in Vietnam I smoked again. Then again in Nicaragua and back in Newcastle too.

Certainly I rarely smoked again at levels close to my earlier days in Hanoi when I was sucking down well over a pack a day. In fact, half the time in Central America I didn’t smoke at all. At one point I rationalised that just one cigar a week wouldn’t be too damaging.

No real hardship there – I found I could easily make the foot-long local specials last a week.

Also as someone who’d always been on the somewhat hefty side, being overseas was at first a blessing. In Vietnam I found that an upset stomach might not be pleasant but was an effective method of weight control. Couple that with a rice-based diet and the pounds just fell away.

But then, about the same time as my belly adapted, my taste buds we’re compelling me to seek out richer food. While my initial weight loss was stalling, I didn’t worry too much about weight gain. Surely the next bout of sickness would take care of it.

Vietnam ended and Nicaragua began. Boiled rice gave way to fried rice and beans and lots and lots of cheese. I must say I didn’t really notice it but I guess the weight started to really pile on. When you’re wearing sloppy shorts and t-shirts every day you’ve some way to go before they start to feel tight.

Before too long I was back in the UK and all those comfort foods I had missed. British food might be considered comparatively bland - but have you any idea the sheer quality of the ingredients compared to those in developing countries? It all tasted so good.

I was back to Embassy Number One cigarettes too after three years on local tabs and Marlboro lights.

Then there was something of a dawning. A bit run down I went to the doc’s. Occasionally dizzy and frequently breathless, paranoia made me wonder if I had brought back some horrible tropical lurgy.

After a stack of tests the answer was much more simple - I was just very unhealthy.

Certainly a step on the surgery’s scales made my eyes pop out. In all the time I was away – nearly three years in all - I hadn’t weighed myself. Ouch.

Christmas and New Year was the cut off. I haven’t smoked since January 1st. I know I’ve said this before but I feel like I have smoking licked. While I still have occasional cravings, they’re slowly giving way to a real revulsion at tobacco.

Weight loss has been slow – my dodgy scales suggest half a stone lost but their lack of accuracy might actually mean I’ve lost half that. But my diet has changed and I am feeling better for it. More fruit and veg – no more cooked brekkies or bacon sarnies from the staff canteen.

My holiday was tricky and I was far from well behaved calorie-wise but could have been worse. I arrived back Sunday and sat down with the diet books with the aim of getting serious.

In the meantime, while I have been regularly walking home the two and a half miles from work, sport remains too scary for now.  I’d like to start playing five-a-side again sometime soon though.

For the record this isn’t the start of some sort of horrible diet blog. Don’t expect any weight-loss updates – well not unless I am really successful and want to be smug about it. You won’t be seeing any pics of me demonstrating the new found roominess in my old trousers.

But, in between my rants, I also want this blog to continue to be something of a personal narrative and this feels like something I should bookmark.

And as far as life goes, mine seems to be at a crossroads healthwise. If I fail this time then it feels like I’ll shortly be too far gone to ever get it right.

Hopefully, the acceptance of this fact should be enough to ensure I succeed.